


Let Slip The Dog Of War

by Loremaiden



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Abduction, Community: watsons_woes, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby goes for broke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Slip The Dog Of War

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to JWP #2 (Animals Animals Animals) on Watson's Woes. Sequel and final part of On The Scent and Reconnaissance.
> 
> Animals Animals Animals: Expand on one of the non-human creatures appearing in or mentioned in the stories (Toby, the mongoose, the trained cormorant). Or create something based on one of the animal AUs (Sherlock Hound, Basil of Baker Street, Otterlock and HedgeJohn, Dangermouse). Will you be the 1,000,000th Sherlockian to speculate on just what the Giant Rat of Sumatra was?

I rush into the room and use every trick in the book I know to put the fear of Dog into this human. I widen my eyes and stare him down. I pull my lips back to flash my teeth and I growl as deep as I can muster. My fur and tail are raised, making me look bigger than I really am. I tense my muscles and stand parade-ground straight, leaning forward on my front legs and prepared to unleash hell if he moves a hair.

His only response is a high-pitched drunken laugh. No fear-scent from him at all.

Well, that's a blow to my pride.

Change of tactics then. Time to hit him where it _really_ hurts.

I dart between his stick-like legs and grab the small money purse that the greedy drunkard foolishly left on the floor. I lead him on a merry chase around the poor unconscious doctor's chair and dash out of the room.

“You mangy little--!” He doesn't get the opportunity to finish the rest of that sentence, as he is interrupted by the waiting left fist of my companion.

 

The mouthwatering aroma of a thick juicy steak wakes me up from my afternoon nap. The meat is cause for celebration alone, but what truly sets my tail a-wagging is the twin scents of my favorite clients returned.

While the detective flashes his quicksilver smile, I am cheerfully given my wage by the doctor, who I'm happy to say looks none the worse for wear from his misadventure last week. And while I usually prefer privacy when I take my meals, I have no complaints of him stroking my back at the moment.

Gone are the horrid smells of blood and rope, of fear and panic; they are themselves again and ready to tackle another case.

And all is right in Pinchin Lane.


End file.
